Ask Alice
by Dinosaur Barbecue
Summary: The patients of Brookwood are forever changed with the arrival of a girl named Alice, who discovers that escaping her fate may simply be a matter of the mind.
1. Prologue

Prologue

_May 1, 1943_

She was late.

No, not the doctor. Doctor White was, quite certainly, never late. It was Mr. Darling's secretary, due to arrive at the hospital at noon, who was late. Though she would never say so, Doctor White was somewhat glad of it-there had been a ruckus in Florence House that had required her attention, and now at a quarter after, she strode purposefully through the halls of Brookwood, toward the entrance. The clatter of her heels upon the floor was the only sound in the long, window-lit corridors; nurses and patients alike fell silent as she neared, watching her pass with the a mixture of respect and fear.

Doctor White was not oblivious to their scrutiny, but did not have the time to spare to care about it. She ran her hands over non-existent wrinkles in her crisp skirt and tugged on the sleeves of her jacket, but as she neared the great double doors that were Brookwood's portals to the world at large, she shifted her customary clipboard from hand to hand, trying to decide which made a more intimidating figure. It was eventually settled on the left, and she stepped outside onto the wide stone stairs, inhaling the damp green smell that always came to Surrey with the spring. Underneath it was something sharper, malodorous: the grey exhaust of supply trucks, idling in the hospital's gravel drive, curled up toward the clouded sky. White studied the regimental flag of the Royal Army Medical Corps painted hastily on the trucks' canvas canopies before turning her attention to a black sedan that had pulled into a free space between them. The automobile-a shining Rolls Royce that looked almost new-bore the emblem of the Buckinghamshire City Council on its rear passenger door. Its presence surprised the doctor-she would have thought Mr. Darling would have been more discreet.

She did not have much time to wonder as the door swung open and a pair of shapely, nylon-clad legs emerged into the daylight, soon followed by the rest of the woman they belonged to. Dressed smartly, Mr. Darling's secretary wore heels that seemed impractically high, but she stood and walked toward the doctor as if she had been born in them. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was worn loose, and her eyes were hidden by a pair of aviators. White could see her own pale reflection in their lenses as the other woman offered a hand and a wide, insincere smile.

"Doctor White, I presume?"

White took the offered hand and gave it a single shake. "Good afternoon, Miss Dawn." She looked pointedly over the secretary's shoulder, as if to see some other passenger pop out of the car, though she knew it was unlikely. "And Mr. Darling..?"

"Unable to make it," replied Miss Dawn smoothly. "He sends his deepest regrets."

"I see." Doctor White gestured toward the hospital's entrance. "Shall we?"

"After you."

The pair of women moved up the stairs and into the first hall, past a desk where a gaggle of orderlies were hard at work trying to appear busy. White and Dawn both ignored them.

"Mr. Darling can be assured that his daughter is being given only the best care we can provide," Doctor White told Dawn as they marched, much like the military nurses and officers that had commandeered the hospital to attend the wounded soldiers of Her Majesty's Armed Forces. Her speech sounded rehearsed, a fact which did not escape her listener, who stifled a smirk. "Our staff is well trained and highly specialized, as he well knows, and Miss Darling has been with us for so many years that we treat her like a member of our own family."

They passed many doors, open and closed. The rooms that Miss Dawn could see had once been parlors and sitting-rooms for visitors and patients, but they now contained rows of cots of injured soldiers or boxes of supplies. The hall turned sharply, and they faced a new pair of doors; these were smaller, with windows set in them to let in the light.

"Miss Darling stays in the ladies' annex, Florence House," White explained as she opened the doors onto a wide, well-kept lawn. A handful of trees, their spring buds slowly unfurling, shaded pathways on which soldiers, nurses, and female patients walked. On the other side of it, fenced in by iron and trimmed shrubs, was the annex: three stories tall, the building was rather sizeable, almost mansionlike with its brick exterior and clean, curtained windows. White gestured to one of the wings of the building. "We have many activities and events in our Recreation Hall, and the townspeople are welcome to participate and attend." She smiled thinly. "Though it does not happen very often these days."

Miss Dawn looked around curiously, her eyebrows rising from behind her glasses as she took in just how large Brookwood was. She listened as Doctor White pointed out the other outlying buildings-a dairy farm, a cobbler's, the nurses' residence, and the chapel being only a few. The main building they had just exited was no small feature itself-it had wings spreading out and then extending toward Florence House, as if to embrace it. A clock tower on the annex observed the entire complex like a stoic sentinel, indifferent to the passage of patients and time.

White allowed her guest a few moments before adjusting her clipboard. "We had better not keep Miss Darling waiting," she suggested.

"Yes," Miss Dawn agreed, after a strange sort of sigh. She must be bored, White thought, annoyed. Attending her boss's daughter at a mental hospital certainly was not glamorous, but it did not call for disrespect.

They continued, crossing the yard and entering Florence House through yet more double doors-though these were locked, and Doctor White pulled the key from a ring on a silver chain in her breast pocket.

"Locked?" Miss Dawn queried.

"Only on the outside," White said, holding the door open for the secretary to pass through. "The ladies may go to the yard anytime they like during the designated recreation hours. Miss Hurley," she nodded to an old, rounded nurse seated on a cushioned chair just inside the door, "Is here to allow them back in."

Miss Dawn arched a brow. "Any of the girls can leave?"

"If they are well behaved."

The halls inside Florence House were smaller then those of the Hospital proper, and somehow more cozy. The walls were hung with paintings and photographs of the House's residents, lined up in uniforms for various sports, or dressed up for dances in the ball room. Miss Dawn peered very closely at them, though she did not remove her glasses, even indoors.

The parlors in the House were intact but empty. Girls' voices came at them from down the hall, and they passed the door to the Library, of which Doctor White seemed very proud.

Inside there was no hint of the chaos that had distracted her earlier. The girls were well-behaved now, seated or standing with books or drawing-pads, a few pairs even chattering over a game of chess. It had a look of disorderly organization-it was a room that was very much lived in and beloved by its occupants.

"The kitchen and dining hall are farther along that way," Doctor White pointed farther down the hall once they had passed the Library. "And the bedrooms upstairs. Our girls sleep in singles or doubles. Miss Darling has her own room, of course."

They climbed up a set of stairs, its wooden banister shining with the touch of many hands over the years. The corridor on the second floor bore evidence of having been recently cleaned-the carpets were still a little damp, and there were stains on the walls where someone had drawn or painted on them and then set to cleaning them off. Here, the paintings and photographs were amateur, products of the girls themselves, White said. That seemed to amuse Miss Dawn, who smiled-or grimaced, it was hard to tell.

They turned to the left, past closed doors, until they reached the very end. Doctor White knocked on the right-side door as Miss Dawn looked out of the window; this end of the building overlooked the chapel, and beyond it, the countryside. Smoke curled from the chimneys of cottages hidden by trees and hills, on and on, seemingly forever.

Miss Dawn faced forward again as the doctor opened the door. The doctor's voice changed as she addressed Miss Darling, less authoritative and markedly warm.

"Wendy, dear, there is someone here to see you."

She pushed the door open wider, and Miss Dawn could see the eggshell blue of the walls, and the wide window overlooking the yard-though the view was somewhat spoiled by the bars on the outside of the glass. The furnishings looked like they belonged in a nursery: a bed with a whimsically carved headboard rested against one wall, a toy chest at its foot. A low bookshelf and dresser had knicknacks scattered across them, and the doctor reached out impulsively to right an overturned vase of dried daisies. Beneath the window were two chairs, where a young woman sat. She was nearly twenty years old, but her light blue dress and slippers, coupled with the bow in her brown hair and the naive, excited look in her wide eyes gave her the illusion of childhood.

"Wendy, this is Miss Dawn, a friend of your father's." Doctor White indicated the secretary, who nodded in greeting.

"Hello, Miss Darling. May I call you Wendy?"

"You might."

"Thank you." Turning to the doctor, Miss White said, "I should like to be speak to her alone, if you please."

"Of course." White was once again cold and distant. "I shall return in one hour."

She stepped out, closing the door until an inch-wide gap remained. Miss Dawn listened to her receding footsteps before crossing the room to take the seat across from Wendy, who did not seem at all disturbed by her visitor sitting down uninvited. Removing her glasses at last, Miss Dawn searched Wendy's face with a mixture of wonder and caution.

"Hello, Wendy, do you know who I am?"

"Of course," replied the girl easily. "Peter said you'd come."

This didn't seem to alarm Miss Dawn in the slightest. "A clever boy, Peter. I would like to ask you some questions, Wendy, is that all right?"

Wendy nodded silently, looking down at her folded hands. They opened slowly, revealing shining, scar-bitten palms.

There was a moment of quiet as Miss Dawn watched her, face unreadable. Finally, "Your hands, Wendy. They were hurt in a fire, weren't they?"

Wendy nodded again.

"That was a long time ago, wasn't it? There were other people who were hurt in that fire, too. Do you remember what happened that night?"

Wendy didn't nod, but shifted her gaze to the floor, then moved up the walls, which were painted with flowers and fairies. "I remember," she said softly.

"Of course you do. And all of the things that lead up to it, I imagine. There was a girl that caused that fire, who stayed here, but is gone now. Do you know what happened to her, Wendy?"

Miss Darling looked almost fearful, looking over her shoulder and pausing, as if to listen to a voice Miss Dawn could not hear. Then, she turned back, very much at ease again.

"I don't know what happened to her, but Peter knows what you can do. You can ask her yourself."

"Ask who?" Miss Dawn's eyes were shining, and she didn't know whether they were tears of triumph or despair.

"Ask Alice."

* * *

AN

I started this story, then took it down, started again, and took it down again. Third time's the charm, yeah?


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

September 9, 1938

Alice Kingsley raised a hand to her face, shading her eyes as she squinted into the distance. She swore she could see it, there, at the edge of the garden, rustling around beneath the begonias, but when she pointed it out, her mother said she was only imagining things. Well, she could hardly be blamed, since this was about the most boring engagement party she'd had the misfortune of ever attending.

Not that she had much choice in the matter, considering that the bride-to-be was her own sister. Margaret looked like an angel, despite the day's gloom, laughing with her friends and loved ones as they offered her congratulations and advice. Her cheeks were flush with delight, her eyes gleaming brighter than the band about her finger; the sight of the ring made Alice's stomach turn sour.

She did not like Mr. Lowell. He was handsome, well-spoken, and his father had once been a business partner of Alice's. However, the Lowells had been somewhat more successful in their ventures, a fact that Mr. Lowell was sure they did not forget. That was why Alice did not like him: he appeared to be marrying Margaret the same way businessmen merged companies. He did not love Margaret the way Margaret deserved to be loved.

Alice said nothing. Her mother looked like she was watching a tennis match, dividing her attention between Margaret's gaggle of friends and her antisocial younger daughter across the table. Every now and then, Mrs. Kingsley would also look up and frown at the clouds, as if daring them to try and rain.

It was the first time in nearly a year and a half that Alice had seen her mother wear anything but black, and it had taken much cajoling to get Alice into a dress of festive grey. While polite society had considered their mourning period over, the passing of Mr. Kingsley still felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday, stinging each time Alice heard her sister say, "If only Father were here!"

_If Father were here, _the young woman's thoughts echoed. _He wouldn't tell me that I was imagining the rabbit in waistcoat out there in the garden. He would have helped me catch it._

"Alice." Mrs. Kingsley was scowling at her daughter. "You look ill. Perhaps the sun is too much for you."

Alice stared at her mother, wondering just why it had taken her this long to finally banish her from the party. She stood and replied, "Perhaps so, Mother. I think I will go and lay down for a while."

"That would be best."

Margaret hardly noticed Alice pick her way out of the party and disappear into the house. Alice, however, could watch Margaret as she made her way through the windowed corridors and up the stairs, tearing her gaze away only as she moved into the eastern wing. She did not go to lay down, but instead found herself standing outside of her Father's office.

They left it as it had been the day Mr. Kingsley died, occasionally dusting the shelves and opening the windows to let out the stale air; today, however, they had not, but as Alice approached she saw the key in the lock and the door ajar. Inside, she could hear heavy footsteps, and hesitated.

_What am I afraid of? _She asked herself derisively. _I should not be afraid in my own house._

The door creaked as she pushed it open and stepped inside. The first thing she saw was her father's desk in disarray, its drawers open and the lamp askew. Pacing behind it, pale in they dying daylight, was Mr. Lowell.

He looked up at the sound of the door and jumped with surprise. _Surprise? I live here, _Alice thought. Aloud, she said, "What are you doing, Mr. Lowell?"

Lowell stepped around the desk. In his hands he held a folio of papers, its front embossed with _KINGSLEY & CO. _It was quite curious to Alice why her sister's fiancé would be dawdling in their dead father's office and digging through his papers. Quite curious indeed.

"Miss Kingsley," Lowell began, his Londoner's affectation already getting on Alice's nerves. "You must forgive me for intruding."

"I mustn't do anything," Alice replied curtly. She glanced pointedly at the folio, which Lowell now held away from him, as if it was a snake about to strike. "Is there something you need in here, Mr. Lowell?"

She was pleased to see him flush, the color bright against the white of his suit. "Miss Kingsley..." Her sharpness always seemed to startle him, a man who was used to charming his way to whatever he wanted. It might have endeared him to Margaret, but it made Alice nauseous. His smile, gentle as it was now, was even worse.

"Alice... Must we be so formal?" He shifted the folio under one arm. "We are about to be in-laws, after all."

"You and Margaret aren't married yet," Alice said frankly, crossing the threshold. She glanced at the folio again. "I'd be grateful, _Mr. Lowell_, if you would return my father's papers to where you found them."

The knuckles on Mr. Lowell's hands turned white. "They are only business matters, Miss Kingsley. It is important that I become familiar with your father's properties so that I can take care of the company."

"You can discuss business matters with my father's lawyers, then," Alice stepped nearer, her earlier boredom now replaced with anger. "Including whether or not it is your business at all."

Since her father's death, the Kingsley & Co. International Shipping Agency had faltered, run by the well-meaning but somewhat incompetent Mr. Harding, who had been Mr. Kingsley's Vice President and dear friend. Unfortunately, Mr. Kingsley had been the more business savvy of the two, and Harding was only just avoiding running it into the ground.

Lowell raised one eyebrow, his composure regained. "What are you saying? Once Margaret and I have married I have every intention of proposing a merger. I will replace that foolish Mr. Harding and resume your father's post myself."

"Will you?" Alice's eyes flashed. "That would be quite a feat if you could convince us to allow it. In case you are not aware, Mr. Lowell, the Agency is the property of my mother, as defined by my father's will. And, once I am of age, it will be _mine_."

Her tone made it clear that she had no intentions of sharing any aspect Kingsley & Co. with him. Lowell's gaze hardened and he made as if to step past her; with a shock, Alice realized what he must have found in the folio-the will, among other papers defining the company as her family's property. He could alter or destroy them to smooth his passage to the Agency, a task that Alice knew she would not stand for.

"_Mr. Lowell_," she said sharply, stepping in front of him and reaching for the folder. He struggled, and Alice was surprised by how weak he seemed for a grown man of twenty-five. She was seventeen and slight, hardly his physical match. Finally, furious and goaded by the ridiculousness of the situation, Alice raised her hand and slapped him across the face.

Lowell released the folio, stunned. Alice almost lost her balance, clutching the folder to her chest and moving around him to the far side of the desk. He seemed rooted to the spot as she put the folio down and began to rearrange the desk to how it had once been.

She froze. In a drawer on the right-hand side, a pistol gleamed. The firearm startled her; Mr. Kingsley was not a violent man, and she never knew that he'd even owned a gun. The metal and wood were both in need of cleaning. She recalled that this drawer had always been locked, the key lost; the lock had been broken, however, and now rested on the floor at her feet.

Lowell had come up behind her as she'd studied the pistol. He gripped her wrist and jerked her around to face him, the red mark of her slap vivid on his cheek. "Miss Kingsley," he hissed, black eyes boring into Alice's blue ones. "That was inexcusable. I will not be so maltreated by a _child_."

Alice tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron, digging into her arm painfully. "Let go of me!" She cried out fearfully, knowing that they would not hear her calls for help all the way out in the garden. She had never been afraid of Lowell before, but then again, she'd never made him this angry.

Pushing him away with her free hand, Alice continued to shout until he tried to cover her mouth with his hand. She bit down on his fingers so hard that she could taste his blood.

He yelled, releasing her only to strike her across the face. It was forceful enough that it knocked her down, the edge of the desk biting into her back as she fell to her knees. Dazed, she tasted blood again, and realized it was her own.

She tried to stand up, to find her feet and flee. Lowell looked shocked by his own actions, but Alice could only think that he would keep hitting her, or worse. Fumbling, she gripped the desk and pulled herself up; her hand slipped, and she felt the cold metal of the pistol on her palm.

"My God," Lowell said softly, staring at his hands, then at Alice. He reached out to her, his fury turned into frightened contrition. "Alice-"

"Get away from me!" She shrieked. Somehow, she'd picked up the gun and was holding it before her in both hands. It rattled as she shook, backing away.

Lowell's face drained of color, his eyes flicking between her face and the gun. "Now, Alice, please-"

Like a frightened animal, Alice screamed and pulled the trigger.

* * *

When some time had passed, and the blood had been scrubbed from Alice's hands, she could recall the words of the law officers and her father's lawyers as they had lingered outside of her room.

"Madness," was a word she heard often, spoken like the name of the disease that had taken her father. Through the haze of barbiturates they had administered, she wondered, was she going to die?

The thought frightened her. She wanted to go back to the garden party, to listen to her sister's laugh, and enjoy the few months remaining before she was to leave to become that pig's poor wife. But then she remembered-Margaret wasn't going to marry Lowell, because Lowell was dead.

Unfortunately for Alice Kingsley, she was going to find out that there were fates much worse than death.


End file.
